


Tenderness is not like money

by middlemarch



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Covid-19 Related, F/M, Gen, Hospitals, Male Friendship, Romance, Smuggling, doctor!Demelza, donate to your local hospital, if you have N95 masks, pandemic fic, social distancing fic, veteran!Ross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: What was the real crime?
Relationships: Demelza Carne & Dwight Enys, Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Tenderness is not like money

“Mel, if I can get a shipment of thirty thousand N95 masks to your unit by tomorrow at 3 pm, is anyone going to have a problem with their…provenance?” Ross asked, awkwardly framed by the screen; they were FaceTiming because it was safer, Demelza assumed she’d been exposed or would be, and they did have their own apartments. He’d taken Garrick with him and she could see her dog, hers and never theirs, sitting next to Ross on his leather couch. It was such a dark brown, it read black on the screen, which was the color of the jacket he was still wearing. He hadn’t shaved either. He probably hadn’t made the bed either.

“3 is shift change,” she said.

“That’s the problem?” he asked, squinting at her. “Mel, you look tired. You sleeping?”

“Enough. No, I mean, 3’s not ideal but we’ll take them whenever. But, why can’t you say where they’re coming from?”

“Dwight’s a straight arrow. He hasn’t your…practicality,” Ross said and she knew he meant it as praise.

“You and Jud, you’re smuggling in masks, aren’t you? Christ, you’re really doing that, aren’t you?” The question mark and accompanying inflection were pro forma. “Ross. Vennor. Poldark—"

“Yes, Dr. Carne, I bloody-fucking-well am. I looked at the options, I looked at the stats from Italy and South Korea and Jud’s connections came through for us. It’s worth it, I think it is,” Ross said, the screen stuttering a little, unable to make him anything less than gorgeous. Demelza thought of the unit, of the shelf with all their N95s in brown paper sacks. She’d scrawled _Carne_ across hers, her surname legible this one time, when it counted.

“Text Agnes. Or Prudie. When you’re bringing them,” Demelza said. “I’ll be too busy to answer.”

“Mel—”

“It’s bad, Ross. It’s bad now and it looks…if you have thirty thousand bloody N95s, if you had thirty, I’d tell you to bring them in. However you can,” Demelza said, taking a deep breath and trying to stretch her back, opening up her lungs, feeling the air fill them effortlessly. She thought of the filigree of willow trees and their roots, imagined a green tree inside her chest. How long before it wasn’t so easy?

“I hate this,” he said. 

“Yeah, it’s not my favorite either,” Demelza laughed. 

“I miss you in the bed. I miss knowing you’ll slip in next to me, if you get in late,” Ross said. “I miss reaching over and finding you, I miss the scent of you on the pillow.”

“I couldn’t sleep if I thought I’d get you sick. It’s not forever,” she said. Garrick whined and she thought of Dwight’s blue eyes, how tired they already looked. 

“It’s not, love,” Ross said. “I won’t let it be.”

Demelza just let his words hang there. They sounded nice, Ross Poldark’s fist raised against the universe, his confidence in the face of disaster. He’d come back from Afghanistan in one piece, there was that, but a virus was more impersonal than war. Numbers weren’t likely to be swept away by his voice, the number of vents, of staff capable of running them, of running a code.

“Maybe we can do 2:30,” he offered. His dark eyes were so dark, so thoughtful. He was watching her. “Avoid shift change.”

“Gloves wouldn’t hurt either,” she said. “If you and Jud come across any.”

“Whatever you want, Demelza. Whatever you need,” he said. His baritone had dropped to basso profundo, determined, tender. So soft, making a promise.

She hoped he could keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> Today's installment of pandemic-fit from your friendly, neighborhood health professional/fangirl: Poldark edition. Title is from Winston Graham,
> 
> And for real. Stay home. Wash your hands for 30 seconds. And if you have N95 masks, please donate them. Doctors, nurses, all hospital staff need these to stay healthy. The brown paper bag storage protocol is what's happening across the US right now.


End file.
